Slippery When Frozen
by LindseyBee
Summary: Sledding has more dangers than the naked eye reveals—especially if you’re Sodapop Curtis and Steve Randle. One-shot. Rated T for safety.


**Slippery When Frozen: A Steve & Soda fic.**

Please R&R, if you please. :)

Written by both LindseyBee and Friday913.

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It was one of those pleasurably rare days in the city of Tulsa. The air was crisp and cool, courtesy of the snow that was currently drifting from above. But this was not news to the civilians, for the white rain had begun falling long ago. It had already gathered on the ground, curtaining the calves of short people and ankles of taller folks. But while most were inside their homes, cozying up on a couch or near a Christmas tree (it was that time of year, you see), two greasers were taking full advantage of the surprise—Sodapop Curtis and Steve Randle.

"Steve—_Steve—_would you _slow down_?" Soda growled. He'd been put in charge of lugging the toboggan up Killer Hill—which wasn't actually nicknamed for the ride down, but the trudging they had to do to get up the damn thing. Soda didn't exactly find the fairness in this situation, seeing as Steve had more muscle than him. "Why the heck am _I_ doing this, anyway?"

"Dontcha wanna get ripped, Soda? Then you gotta hustle, buddy," Steve encouraged sarcastically, which only made his best friend grimace.

The grimacing continued until they made their way entirely up the hill. Soda let out a puff as he released his grip on the toboggan. Luckily, it didn't slide down the titled hill when he let go.

"You're pulling it up the second time," Soda warned his friend.

"Sure, sure," Steve mumbled, surveying the angles of their sled. "You in front or me in front?" he said, and Soda pointed to him.

"You in front. You think I wanna face full of snow?"

Steve considered this.

"All right, fine. The snow ain't gonna get me that bad. Besides, I steer better than you."

Soda laughed as a response and positioned himself in the back of the toboggan. Steve took his place in the front, and Soda counted before sending them downcast on the hillside.

"Three—two—one—"

And they were off. The first couple of seconds were rugged. The bottom of the sled skidded over pebbles and sticks, but it became smooth. They were halfway down the hill when the real trouble began—Steve made a mistake and curved to the right, smacking head-on into a boulder and throwing them each off of the toboggan. Soda landed safely on his back with no harm done, but Steve was unfortunate enough to end up with a mouthful of snow and a bleeding nose—his face had collided with the rock.

Soda sat up, brushing the wetness out of his hair and off his back before walking over to his buddy. He was smirking, despite Steve's obvious injury.

"You okay?" he asked, and when Steve nodded, he added: "So you steer _better_ than me, huh?"

Steve scowled and rubbed the melting snow off his face, which was a disgusting crimson-brown color from his blood and some soaking wet dirt.

Soda kept the grin on his face. Once Steve's face was completely blood-free, his scowl deepened and he hissed out a reply:

"Wipe that grin off your face." Although he was bitter, there was an obvious smirk hiding beneath his expression.

There was a moment's hesitation that mostly involved the two greasers staring at each other, then Steve leaned over and clutched a fistful of watery snow. Soda's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't have a chance to strike back before a snowball was being lodged at his head.

The slush cracked against Soda's skull, causing his hair to become something similar to a soaking wet mop.

"My hair!" Soda exclaimed, rubbing the palm of his hand along his scalp. "My tuff hair!"

Soda's immediate response was to dip down and lunge a snowball at his buddy, so he did just that. Steve's reflexes, unfortunately for Soda, were agile enough that he dodged the flying slush ball and took shelter behind the nearest tree. Soda ran after him, but only managed to get himself a mouthful of sleet.

The snowball fight proceeded, and Steve relished every minute of it—because he was winning. But then Soda decided to fight back unfairly, and he tackled his best friend to the ground. Steve struggled for an instant, throwing Soda off of him and sprinting away. Soda followed his lead down the hill, grinning as Steve tripped over a piece of ground and landed on his stomach.

Steve panicked playfully, trying at an attempt to stand back up—but he couldn't make it to his feet. His knees wobbled and legs slipped as he tried to lift himself off the ground. It took him a moment of staring around curiously to realize what the problem was, but when he _did_ figure it out, he gasped and called to Soda.

"Sodapop, _don't_—" he shouted at his nearing friend.

Soda stopped in his tracks as he reached, what Steve had just recently realized, was a feebly-frozen lake. Soda stared around wildly as the ice emitted a sharp, distinct cracking sound. Steve's pupils dilated in horror at the terrifying noise, and, unsure of what else to do, he kept himself entirely still.

"Steve…" Soda said carefully. "Steve, _crawl_—" When the stubborn greaser refused, the sentence continued sharply. "Steve, _I said crawl_." Steve, however, only agreed when Soda also got to his hands and knees.

"All right…" Steve breathed, edging cautiously towards the outer end of the lake. Soda made it to safety easily, seeing as though he had hardly walked into the trap, but Steve wasn't quite as lucky. He was in the middle of the icy midst.

"Okay, Steve…. You're doing good…" Soda soothed, sitting shakily beside the edge of the lake. Steve glared at him nastily and growled:

"Shut your trap, Soda. I'm concentrating here."

Soda silenced himself, though kept smiling as Steve crawled closer and closer to damp land. His best friend almost made it to freedom, but then a second rift echoed across the frozen lake. Steve caught Soda's eye for only a second before his body was indulged in the frigid depths.

"_Steve!" _Soda cried, readying himself to plunge into the water. Fortunately, Steve flailed his arms and legs and swam to the surface, clutching the nearest source of solid land and pulling himself out with a gasp.

Soda leaned over his buddy, surveying his shivering body. A stricken expression was etched into Steve's face, and Soda bit his lip before asking if he was all right. But before he could, Steve interrupted, teeth chattering violently.

"S-Soda?"

"Uh, yeah…?"

"N-next time…I'm gonna go sledding with E-Evie…."

To this, Soda could only snicker.


End file.
